


put our best foot forward

by findyourfortunefalling



Series: Lady Hargreeves Academy for Orphan Girls [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/F, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 12:49:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20815445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/findyourfortunefalling/pseuds/findyourfortunefalling
Summary: Diego hated dancing lessons. She hated most things, really. The starchy, stifling uniforms of Lady Hargreeves' Academy; the narrow, creaking dormitory beds; rules and regulations of all kinds. Dancing lessons were particularly unbearable, though, for their primness, formality, and proximity to Luther, the absolute bane of Diego's life.-Being Part the First of a Serial Tale of the Student Inhabitants of Lady Hargreeves' Academy for Orphan Girls, Their Lives, and Their Exploits.





	put our best foot forward

**Author's Note:**

> This hot mess started as a conversation on the Umbrella Academy kinkmeme Discord; since then, it has gotten... out of hand. Inspired by Victorian and Edwardian spanking porn. When is this set? Why is any of this happening? Who cares. They're all girls, they're all locked up in an isolated boarding school, and they're all really queer and horny. There will, I'm sorry to say, be more of this. Title from 'Girl's School', by Rasputina.
> 
> I haven't tagged this as incest, because in this AU the kids don't consider themselves to be siblings, but sexy business _does_ happen between characters who _do_ consider themselves siblings in canon. If I haven't tagged for something and you wish I had, please drop a comment to let me know.

Diego hated dancing lessons. She hated most things, really. The starchy, stifling uniforms of Lady Hargreeves' Academy; the narrow, creaking dormitory beds; rules and regulations of all kinds. Dancing lessons were particularly unbearable, though, for their primness, formality, and proximity to Luther, the absolute bane of Diego's life. In an academy of this size, Luther was practically impossible to avoid, particularly since Lady Hargreeves had selected her as Head Girl, but at least in their more sedate lessons, they could, and did, sit as far apart as possible. In dancing lessons, they had to _dance together_.

It was mortifying to dance with Luther. She was so _big_, and she always insisted on leading, even though Miss Grace had said they should switch off leading and following for the partner dances, so as to prepare them for dancing with men. Diego didn't want to dance with men, but if she had to dance at all, she'd much rather lead.

"You dance like a wildebeest," she murmured, as Luther stumbled yet another step.

"Will you be quiet and let me concentrate," said Luther stiffly.

"Or what? You'll step on my toes again?" Diego moved through the figure, pulling Luther into place when necessary. When they played outdoor games, Luther was always the most athletic of them all; she could run and jump and catch quite like a boy, but when faced with the steps of a simple country dance, went all to pieces.

"I didn't step on your toes," said Luther, stepping on Diego's toes.

Diego rolled her eyes. The slippers they wore for dancing were sufficiently light that even a tread like Luther's didn't really hurt, but the indignity of it was not to be borne. "Next time you step on me, you oversized baboon, I'll put you on the floor and step on _you_," she said, still in a quiet undertone. Miss Handler was onto her third rendition of Gathering Peasecods on the pianoforte, and she played with a certain force, but Diego knew from experience that she had ears like a bat. "See how you like it, for a change."

Luther's face pinked with fury. Silently, she spun them into place for the end of the figure, and back into line for the next set. Diego thought that might be the end of it, but of course it wasn't. Not three steps into the next figure, Luther trod on her again. Diego was nothing if not true to her word; she hooked a foot neatly behind Luther's knee, and yanked her off balance, sending her crashing to the floor.

Miss Handler stopped playing abruptly, and stood up, moving towards them. "What sort of dance step do you call this?" she asked, indicating Luther on her back, with Diego's foot firmly planted on her chest.

"I am so sorry, Miss Handler," said Diego, eyes wide. "My partner must have... slipped."

"You _knocked me over_, you little beast," cried Luther, grasping Diego's leg, and used her grip to send Diego tumbling as well.

Amidst the wave of laughter this inspired from the rest of the class, Miss Handler clapped her hands. Everyone fell silent immediately. "Get up," she said, coldly, and stood, hands folded, while Luther and Diego struggled to their feet. "Miss Diego, is what Miss Luther says true?"

"Ma'am, you just saw her pull me over!" Diego said angrily, pulling her pinafore straight.

"That isn't what I asked you," Miss Handler said. "Answer me."

"Yes," said Diego. "Yes, I knocked her over. She wouldn't stop stepping on my toes, and-"

"Not conduct befitting a young lady," said Miss Handler primly. "Miss Luther, as Head Girl, you may arrange Miss Diego's punishment."

"But ma'am, that's not fair!" Diego exclaimed. Beside her, Luther was back on her feet, looking rumpled.

"Luckily, Miss Diego, it is not your concern whether my decisions are fair or not," said Miss Handler, sitting down at the pianoforte. "Girls, back to your places. We'll try the gavotte again."

Furious, Diego lined back up across from Luther, who was very pointedly not looking at her. Two spots of colour stained her cheeks. Diego gritted her teeth, and started into the first figure.

*

The rest of the day was agony. Diego was sensible of Luther's eyes on her all through the afternoon's instruction, and by dinnertime was so incensed as to be unable to eat more than a few bites. What might Luther do to her? Would she carry out the punishment herself, or turn her over to one of the mistresses? The mistresses at Lady Hargreeves' were, on the whole, a fairly liberal set. Miss Handler preferred cutting words to a cutting birch; Miss Patch, who instructed them in mathematics, Latin, and Ancient Greek, was known to occasionally employ a leather strap on impudent pupils, and Miss Grace, the headmistress, had a slender cane hung on the wall of her office, though Diego had never been on the receiving end of it.

Diego had certainly been punished before. She’d spent her fair share of time on the dunce stool, and received more than a few raps over the knuckles for impertinent talk. She’d never truly _wanted_ to be disobedient. There was just something about Luther, especially since she’d been appointed Head Girl, and had begun to behave even more insufferably than usual. Just looking at her, Diego wanted to scream and fling things across the room like a child. And now, to add to her smugness and her saintly attitudes, she had the power to punish Diego when they argued. It wasn’t fair.

After dinner, Diego reported to Luther’s private room- another privilege gained over the rest of them, who all shared the same dormitory, and had since childhood. Luther, looking awkward, let her in. Diego had not been admitted to Luther’s room before, and found herself looking about with some curiosity. It was a small chamber, sparsely appointed. The bed, clothes press, and jug and wash basin were familiar, having been moved from the dormitory along with their mistress; additional to these was a straight-backed chair tucked beneath a wooden desk, upon which sat a few novels and copybooks, and over which Luther had pinned a few pictures- a flower garden, a circus strongwoman flexing her muscles, a drawing of the moon- meticulously cut from newspapers and colour annuals. Looking at the pictures made Diego feel peculiar, as though glimpsing a side of Luther she had not previously been aware existed.

Luther shut the door behind them, and lit the lamp. The room seemed even smaller with Luther and Diego alone in it, and very, very quiet, as they stood watching one another.

Diego, as was usual, broke the silence first. "What is my punishment to be, Miss Luther?" said Diego, with an edge of sarcasm. "Am I to scrub floors, or write lines?"

Luther blinked. "I had not- that is to say, I- you have been punished before, have you not?" she asked, in a tone of no great confidence. "What form did those punishments take?"

Diego shot Luther a scornful look. “You are keeping me from my bed in order to punish me, and you had not even considered how you were to go about it? Luther, you are ridiculous.”

“You should not speak to me in such a way!” said Luther indignantly. “I am Head Girl now, and-”

“I speak as I find,” said Diego. “Since it would seem I need fear no punishment for it.”

Luther’s hands balled into fists in the fabric of her pinafore. She drew in a deep breath, and let it out again, unclenching her hands and smoothing out the wrinkled cotton as she exhaled. “You _shall_ be punished,” she said, firmly.

“In what fashion? Shall you bore me to tears?” Diego scoffed, wrinkling her nose. “You have no slate to hand for writing lines, nor any instrument of correction that I can see- or do you mean to put me over your knee and spank me like a child?”

“If you will behave like a child, you ought to be spanked like a child,” said Luther, stepping forward. She was very tall, and Diego, no very short girl herself, had to tip back her head to look into her face.

“You lack the nerve,” said Diego, although as she said it she was not certain it was true- there was a wild look in Luther’s eyes and a grim set to her mouth that foretold misery in Diego’s future.

“We shall see about that,” said Luther. Moving swiftly, she sat herself down on the edge of her bed, and gathered Diego to her by the waist. Caught off-balance, Diego could not right herself in time to prevent Luther tipping her over her knees, nor had she time to brace herself before Luther's hand came down on her bottom.

She yelped, more offended than hurt- though it had not been a gentle blow, the muffling effect of her dress and bloomers prevented the strike delivering any real sting. Luther spanked her again, and she kicked, trying ineffectually to get away, but Luther’s arm pressed Diego’s chest to her thighs like a bar of iron. It became clear that there was to be no escape. A third strike came, similarly softened by Diego’s garments.

Inwardly, Diego scoffed. All that physical prowess and fervour for authority, and this was the result? Luther could carry on in this way for an hour together without raising so much as a bruise. The sensible thing for Diego to do would be to wail and thrash a little, as though in much pain, and Luther would doubtless lose heart and stop all the sooner.

Diego had never been an especially sensible girl.

“I thought this was to be a punishment,” she said, raising her head from Luther’s bedclothes. “Punishments are intended to hurt, are they not?”

"You are the only girl on God’s earth who would complain of an insufficiently painful beating,” Luther said, in a long-suffering tone.

“Hardly a beating,” said Diego, who had never known when to let well enough alone. “You have beaten the wrinkles from my skirts, but little else.”

Above her, Luther made a rough sound of frustration, and reached for the hem of Diego's dress, yanking it up her legs. This much was not unexpected, but Luther surprised Diego by proceeding to pull down her drawers also, leaving her bottom bare to the air. The strike which followed was as different to the others as day to night- the force of it rocked her forward on Luther’s lap, and the sting of it felt like the touch of a hot poker, rather than any mere hand. With great difficulty, Diego swallowed the cry which threatened to erupt from her, not wishing to give Luther the satisfaction.

Another strike came down, and then another, and another. Whenever Diego had received discipline before, the mistress meting it out had chosen a number of strokes beforehand, or had made her count them out, but Luther merely swung her hand again and again, raining down blows like claps of thunder. A terrible heat was building under the tender skin of Diego’s buttocks, and when she kicked and wriggled now it was with a genuine desire to get free, to make Luther stop, or at least slow down. It was of no use. She was held fast, and Luther seemed intent on continuing indefinitely.

Diego could have cried out. She could have begged Luther to stop, but to do either seemed a betrayal of principle. She had spoken too boldly, and this was the result; face down over Luther’s lap, with Luther’s big, strong hands scorching her backside.

Luther’s hands were _so_ big. Bigger than they looked, somehow. It had never occurred to Diego to think anything of Luther’s hands, as big and as strong as the rest of her, but they felt enormous on her bottom, her palm as sturdy as an oaken paddle. Thinking the words was all it took for Diego to imagine what it would be like if Luther were to beat her in this wise with such an implement, and an unaccountable flutter rose in Diego’s stomach- for all that she seemed implacable, this treatment doubtless stung Luther’s hand almost as much as it stung Diego’s bottom, but with a device like a paddle or a strap, Luther could continue for _hours_.

Diego shook her head, rubbing her face against the sheets. What a ridiculous thought. She didn’t want Luther to hit her for _longer_. She wanted Luther to stop. Didn’t she? Her stomach felt strange, and her rump felt as though it were on fire, the skin tight and likely glowing pink. It was growing harder to contain the sounds of pain that crawled up her throat. Surely Luther would grow tired soon, and then this could all be over.

At last, however, Luther’s will won out over Diego’s. A particularly sharp slap landed upon the soft part of Diego’s buttock, just above the crease of her thigh, and no amount of biting her lip could hold in the moan it elicited. At the sound, Luther ceased her assault on Diego’s posterior. “Are you- I mean, that is,” said Luther, and cleared her throat. In a much more authoritative tone, she asked: “Have you had enough?”

Diego did not speak. She could not, without revealing the tears that stung at her eyes and tightened her throat. Luther’s hand came down once more upon her bottom, but with no force; she probed at the hot skin, so gently that Diego shivered and squirmed. Her hand moved again, passing over the crack between Diego’s cheeks, and felt also at her thighs, where a few stray blows had fallen. In so doing her fingers trailed between Diego’s legs, then pulled back as though burned.

“Diego,” said Luther, in an odd, hoarse voice. “You are-”

“Don’t,” choked out Diego. “Let me up, you brute.”

Luther did not let her up. She brought her hand back to Diego’s thighs, and this time when her fingers moved over the slippery flesh of Diego’s sex, it was with intent, though clearly very little expertise. “You are so wet,” she said, in a tone of awe that made Diego’s chest clench. “I feared I had hurt you.” 

“You have, you dunderhead,” said Diego, hoping her indignation would win out over her embarrassment. “I shall be as bruised as an overripe pear.”

“It does not seem as though you mind," Luther said. She had discovered the opening of Diego's privates, and circled her fingers around it in an exploratory fashion that made Diego's face burn with mingled shame and curiosity. If it felt this sweet to be touched on the outside- and it did feel very nice indeed, loath as Diego was to admit it, even to herself- what would it be like if Luther pressed inside?

"This behaviour hardly befits a Head Girl," Diego choked out. It took all her self-control to keep her hips still. "You should not-"

"I want to," said Luther, low but insistent, and slid a finger into Diego's sex.

She had wondered how it might feel to be penetrated like this, but the thought had not encompassed the heat of Luther’s hand between her legs, or the twitch of her finger, or the rasp of Luther’s palm over the sore flesh of her buttocks. All of these sensations together made Diego quiver helplessly on Luther’s lap, and she had to bury her face in the bedding once more to muffle the sounds she could not help but make.

Luther pushed her finger in and out experimentally, picking up speed and confidence as she did so. Her knuckles curled against Diego’s privates, an inadvertent tease. “It is nicer with two, if you feel yourself capable,” she said.

“Of course I am capable,” said Diego immediately. When she turned her head to speak, the covers beneath her face were wet with her own saliva, which was disgusting, but she did not move further; all her energies were devoted elsewhere. At last, the implications of Luther’s statement occurred to her. “...how do you know that?”

“Have you not done this to yourself?” Luther asked, in a tone of great surprise. "I suppose I had not done it very often until I had a room to myself."

Diego squeezed her eyes shut. The image of Luther lying on her bed alone, late at night, body curved to fit her own fingers into herself, bloomed vividly behind her eyes, and she wriggled so that she could brace her leg on the post of the bed. "Give me another finger.”

Luther paused. She pulled her index finger out, and swirled it and her middle finger through the excess of wetness smeared between the lips of Diego’s sex before pressing her slick digits back inside. She had been right- two were far better than one. Her hands were so big, so much bigger than Diego’s, and the fullness of her knuckles rubbing inside was sweetness itself. Diego made an inarticulate sound of pleasure, and used the leverage afforded by her foot on the bedpost to rock herself back and forth, encouraging Luther to thrust more rapidly.

“Your bottom is still so red,” murmured Luther, moving her free hand over the still heated skin, and sending frissons of pain radiating outward from each touch. Somehow the pain did not hurt Diego quite so badly, when felt in combination with fingers inside her. If only Luther would not _talk_. “It is such a lovely thing. You ought to have seen it while I was administering your punishment- the way your flesh jiggles when struck is quite enchanting.”

“Luther,” Diego panted. It strained her neck to lift up her head, and in truth she did not truly have an objection to raise; some strange glow was building and building within, and her body’s instinct was to allow itself to be taken however Luther pleased, but it was not in her nature to withstand anything silently. “Please, do not speak in such a way, I cannot-”

“What do you mean?” Curse her, Luther’s tone of puzzlement sounded _genuine_. Was it possible she did not know how such talk fell on Diego’s ears? Did she not realise that to be spoken to like that set off firecrackers in Diego’s stomach? “Do you not like it? It feels as though you do- the way you clench upon my fingers!”

“_Luther_, please,” said Diego. She did not know what else she could say. Luther’s digits slid so easily in and out of her now, lubricated by that wetness that Diego could not explain, and Luther had yet to cease feeling at her scorched posterior, which… hindered the pleasure? Increased it? Her head spun. “Put another finger in me,” was what emerged from her mouth, though she scarcely knew why.

“A third? Diego, I,” Luther said. “I am not certain- that is, you are so tight, and you say you have never- I would not wish to hurt you-”

“You have already hurt me, now please, will you j-just,” said Diego, trailing off into a high, thin moan as Luther pushed a third finger into her. They felt huge and hot inside her, squeezed together by her inner muscles, and when Luther pumped them in and out, it felt as though she might burst from how good it felt.

“You are so _tight_,” Luther said, breathlessly, and she screwed her fingers as deep as they would go, so that her knuckles ground against the rim of Diego’s hole. Diego was now past suppressing the sounds each thrust forced out of her, and only the bedding shielded the whole wide world from hearing her whimpers. Luther clutched at the hot skin of her bottom once more, and that was entirely too much. The glow bubbled over in her belly, and she was lost, awash with strange and wonderful sensations as each muscle in her body spasmed and shivered with pleasure.

When Diego came back to herself, Luther had removed her fingers, and was gently pulling her bloomers back up over her rear. She allowed Luther to help her to sit up, for she was as weak and wobbly as a newborn foal; she winced as she sat down, the softness of the bed too much for her abused flesh.

Luther blushed to see it. “Oh, Diego, I am sorry,” she said. “I did not intend to do any such thing in the first place, but the way you squirmed was so… well. I hope you can forgive me.”

Diego laughed, a wet little sound. “I hardly think there is anything to forgive. What on Earth was that final part?” she asked.

“I do not know what it is called,” said Luther, allowing Diego to curl against her side. “It is rather nice, is it not? I must say I have never thrashed about like you did, when I have reached it by myself.”

The image of Luther touching herself resurfaced in Diego’s mind, still as intriguing as before. “Do you think perhaps it is… being handled by another, that produces such results?”

A quiver went through Luther’s body. “Perhaps,” she said softly.

Luther’s hand was laid in her lap. She quivered again when Diego took it in her own, and again when she kissed the knuckles, inhaling the smell of herself on the skin. She did not say anything as Diego pulled up her skirt, but when Diego’s questing fingers found their target between her legs, she sighed and spread her knees wide, allowing Diego entrance.

Feeling rather clumsy about it, Diego felt about inside the slit of Luther’s underthings. She was arranged down here quite as Diego was, only hot and slick and ready, and the smell of her made Diego’s mouth water in a way that inspired a fresh flock of butterflies in her stomach. In short order, Diego had her fingers buried inside the same sweet crevice Luther had penetrated for her, and had Luther squirming and clutching at her dress in the most gratifying fashion.

“When next you punish me,” said Diego, quietly, right by Luther’s ear; they were holding one another very closely indeed, so there was no need to speak at volume. “You had better do it with my clothes off, so that you may see the effect of the strikes at once.”

Luther gasped. Her insides fluttered around Diego’s fingers. She let go of Diego’s collar and put her hand up her dress as well, skimming over Diego’s hand and beginning to rub little circles above where Diego pushed into her. Diego resolved to ask her what such rubbing was in aid of when they were less occupied.

“And you shall have to take your clothes off, too, that I might get a look at you, as you have looked at me,” Diego continued, hardly knowing what she said. “Should you like that, do you think? To see me, and let me see you?”

“Yes,” Luther moaned, and her inner muscles clamped down so strongly it almost hurt to keep her fingers inside as her body shook under the sensations of that crisis that had overtaken Diego only minutes ago. She recovered more quickly than Diego had, and pulled her hand out from under her garments, pulling Diego to her and covering her face in burning kisses.

“Good grief, Miss Luther,” said Diego, squirming out from under this assault of affection. “Control yourself. I must go to my own bed before I am missed.”

“Must you really go?” Luther said, kissing Diego’s mouth with an aching sweetness. Diego had not been kissed before, and there was something about it that made her cheeks flame, worse even than the blushes their clandestine activities had raised. “I am Head Girl, you know. I could order you to stay.”

“And what should you say to the others tomorrow?” Diego looked into Luther’s face; her heart gave a thud at the expression of hopefulness on her face. “Come now, I am hardly going off to the jungles of India; I am only going down the hall to the dormitory.”

Reluctantly, Luther allowed Diego to disentangle their limbs, and Diego stood quickly, tugging her clothes back into some semblance of order. Luther’s expression was crestfallen, and Diego wanted to scold her for it; she wanted to Luther to promise that this soppiness of manner would not continue into the daylight hours. For all that they had lain together, had touched one another, it would have been somehow terrible for Luther to come over all lovey-dovey and stop treating her as she usually did.

“I am going now,” said Diego firmly. “I cannot be wandering the halls at this hour; if the Head Girl were to find me out of bed, I should be thrashed for sure.”

Luther smiled, soppy expression coloured with an edge of sharpness, and did not reply, but merely watched as Diego limped out, shutting the door behind her.


End file.
